Vitality
by Nitroglycerin
Summary: I am Orokin. I remember a time that history forgot, and I've forgotten more years than most will ever see. A balance of isolation and lies has kept me alive for centuries, but now my time is running out.
1. Asleep

Disclaimer: I do not own Warframe

One star shines more brightly than the others, from where I watch the eternal night sky. Sol, or the Sun – by whatever name I call it, I can't help but feel that it's mine. Maybe that's why I haven't left it yet.

A dark titan looms above my station. Telisto doesn't really have 'days' in the way that the other planets of the Origin System do. She rotates, of course, but the light of the Sun doesn't reach her. Far beyond the reaches of the Kuiper Belt, the ice giant is a lonesome, roaming thing.

Kindred spirits, she and I.

"Brooding again?" Kit asks, hopping onto the windowsill.

"It passes the time," I mutter in return.

The dark-furred faux cat tilts his head at me, amber eyes slowly blinking. When those eyes are open so wide, I can see the shiny metal behind their deceptive surfaces. I often wonder what goes through Kit's mind when he's quiet like this, but he's not exactly a forthcoming sort.

"Do you–" I start to say, but then think the better of it.

"Yes?"

"Never mind."

"Please," Kit rubs up against my arm, purring, "If you're concerned about something, don't withhold it."

 _Nice to meet you too, kettle_ , I think. Still, I give in, "Do you mind that I installed you in that body?"

Kit freezes.

I cringe as the question hovers in the air, regretting it immediately. I've never brought it up before, but it's started to bother me lately. Even though Kit is hardly standard issue, he's still a Cephalon – they aren't designed for physical interfacing like this. I did what I could to patch the holes – very minor holes, in the grand scheme of things – but there was still a level of separation between what Kit was and what he was meant to be.

(I'd do it again if I had to. The isolation constricts my ribcage, crawls beneath my fingernails. I _need_ another living creature, something that at least appears biological. I'd shred Kit to pieces and rebuild him again and again and again if I had to.)

I wish I knew if that bothered him.

At length, Kit says, "My first and foremost priority is to aid you. That goes beyond merely maintaining life support. If it is crucial to your mental health to have a… cat… then I cannot complain."

 _Mental health_. I chuckle wistfully at the notion, "Good. I was worried you might resent me, given how much you screamed during the transfer."

"… It is in the past."

Oh, what a relief. The past doesn't exist. The past is nothing more than a dream.

Kit's tail slowly shifts behind him, "It's been some time since you've been away from the station."

Fire and pain stab through my head, and I squeeze my eyes shut, reminding myself that I can breathe. I'm still alive. It was just a dream that died.

(War and death, always and forever. New weapons, bigger and stronger, built to leave nothing in their wake. Why why _why does it never end?_ )

"If you don't wish to leave," Kit says tentatively, "Perhaps you could give me access to the vault. I'm sure it contains everything we need to survive here indefinitely."

I shake my head, "No, I can go. What do we need?"

Normally I'd keep track of what parts of the ship needed upkeep, but I've been… out of commission for a little while. Who would have thought that standing in a relay, unable to do anything but watch your inevitable death approach, would make it hard to function in daily life?

And I'm the lucky one – no one else in that relay is going to wake up from the nightmare.

"–And there's some sort of glitch in the void transmission," Kit says. Crap.

"I'll run a full diagnostic," I say, hoping Kit doesn't realize that I'd completely checked out while he was talking. I'll need my wings to traverse the station, though I'm not sure where I last left them… "Start growing a new Corpus, Kit."

* * *

Telisto fills my view, growing slowly closer as I hang suspended in empty space. My woven gold mask is a familiar weight against my head, enough so that I can feel its weight in spite of the pressureless, weightless nothingness around me. From here, I can begin to see layers of clouds in spite of the darkness. Though my station is still visible on sensors, I've completely lost sight of it. The Sun shines distantly, and I begin to feel the pull of Telisto's gravity. My wings snap out to counter it.

The diagnostic revealed a whole host of problems with the ship. Its patchwork machinery is fickle at the best of times, having an order of magnitude more problem points than any single system. Having ignored it for the better part of a month, I'm actually surprised there hasn't been a catastrophic failure yet, although to be fair, life support has been running on fumes for a few days now.

I drift into Telisto's upper atmosphere, carefully going lower until the gases are thick around me, blocking out the sky. Crystalline light from my suit flows like liquid on the fog, and the empty canisters on my belt clash against each other, jostled by the wind. I retrieve one, attaching my converter to its lid and fiddling with the settings.

(This little piece of equipment never did see the light of day. It was my own project, in another life. Just finished when the world was destroyed. It's the only thing in my life that's whole.)

Using the converter, I can change any simple, raw material into any other. Telisto is the perfect resource for me, as a nigh-inexhaustible source of matter that the system has long forgotten. Unfortunately, I can't make food or mechanical parts directly, and the construction systems on my ship don't have access to any blueprint data.

Yeah, the construction systems don't actually construct anything. Rather, I modified them to automatically maintain the ship's hull.

I'm probably out of touch with the recent trading scene, but oxium has pretty steady value. It takes a few minutes for the canister to fill with the valuable material. Under my fingers, thin lines on the converter's face glow pale green, indicating that a heavy amount of radiation is being generated by the conversion – nothing my suit can't handle.

Just for some variety, I fill a couple of canisters with rubedo and steel. Carrying too much oxium tends to draw eyes that I don't care to meet, though I'm also interested in checking the current value of these materials at market.

Actually, I should probably bring some gallium as well.

It's been a few days since Kit confronted me about my isolation and I resolved to go to a relay, but the thought still makes me queasy. Even without the Formorian nightmare, relays are ultimately Tenno hubs.

I really, really don't like being near warframes.

Still, though I'd like nothing more than to curl up by the window and pretend everything is okay, I can't. I can't stay here, and I can't delay. In the past few days, I've finished compiling a list of things the ship needs, Kit has completed the transference clone, and I now have materials to trade with. And the life support system isn't going to wait.

The last canister is full. Time to go.

* * *

As I return to my station, I can't help but think that it looks more like a fortress. An empty, unwieldy zombie of a fortress, but a fortress nonetheless. Chunks of ancient ships spike out from the center disk, slashed to pieces and lashed together so that one third appears heavy and bulbous, another is little more than a web of string-like cables and pods, and the last is a series of long, thin protrusions that look like walkways on some days, or blades on others.

Inside, the halls might look inviting if they were ever more than half-lit. Built in a style long lost, their gold and white surfaces eagerly reflect every spark of light that comes their way. Sometimes that's my own personal illumination, but most of the time they must make do with only the stars.

(How many years has it been? I lost count so long ago.)

"Steel?" Kit asks as the airlock closes behind me, "Interesting choice."

"It may not be oxium," I reply, voice ringing slightly as it passes through the mask, "But the same rule applies – everyone always needs more."

"I suppose I can't fault your logic there."

"Of course. My logic is as perfect as laser traps."

"… What?"

I sigh, "One of the more tragic losses of the apocalypse. How is she?"

Kit leads me through cavernous, dark halls, "Hale and hearty, as always. If something had gone wrong, I would have told you."

"Is she the same as the last one?"

"Of course she's the same. That's the thing about clones."

I pinch the bridge of my nose, "Kit, she _died_. This isn't a Grineer. I can't just change my name and pretend to be a different person."

"Ah. I hadn't considered that."

"Well, I guess there aren't any witnesses. The only other survivors would have to be Tenno, and I'm sure none of them would remember me. Actually, maybe it's best to keep the same face – this way, I don't have to build a reputation from the ground up."

Kit angles his head to look at me, "I'm glad you approve."

When we reach the transference room, I have to duck under a tangle of exposed ductwork. Tubing and circuitry hang out of the walls like sinew and veins, not helped by the viscous, glowing fluids dripping out of some of them. The mess is natural side-effect of my diagnostic – communication between these two rooms has broken down, and I needed to break into the walls to figure out why. This area is currently a numb spot for Kit. I'll need some new tools to fix it.

Pods line the walls inside – only two are ever in use at the same time. In the gloom, those two spill luminescent dandelion light over the floor.

A Grineer woman floats in one. I think her name is Glen Dekei, but it changes so often that I'm not sure. Her DNA is much like this ship, all patchwork and splices. She has to have the exact appearance of a Grineer or she could never serve her purpose, but she also needs most of her genetic code to be identical to mine, or the transference would never hold. I'm no Tenno – though I was able to duplicate the transference process, the tech is far more delicate than a Tenno's natural capabilities.

Thankfully, I almost never use the splice-clone. I rarely have reason to pose as Grineer, particularly given my utter lack of combat capability. If I didn't limit my Grineer interactions to just a few minutes at a time, I probably would have…

Well. I would probably have several more bad memories.

Setting down my canisters, I look to the other pod, to a far more familiar face. Cai Tanya is her name. She's forty now, I think. She's a traveling trader, broken off from the Corpus, and neutral among the syndicates. She somehow has a steady supply of oxium at all times, though no one knows where it comes from. It's her most closely guarded secret.

I rest my fingers against the cool glass, lifting my mask. Cai Tanya doesn't look exactly like me – glowing eyes and hair would attract the worst kind of attention. Aside from that, however, we're nearly identical. Her body has a few years over mine, but only a few. I hope she'll grow to a good old age before I have to kill her for good – I don't often get to use my own face, and I really like her name.

With a hydraulic hiss, a different sort of pod drifts down from the ceiling. It opens shortly before reaching the ground – never quite touching the floor – and I take a deep breath before climbing inside.

A few hundred years ago, I thought I'd get used to this part someday.

As my eyes close, they open to dandelion light. An electric shock courses down my spine, and the liquid holding me suspended drains away in a roaring whirl. The respirator pops off, and I find my feet before the pod spins open, but still stumble on my way out.

Kit's eyes reflect an eerie silver-orange glow, "Good morning, Cai Tanya."

"Could we get some light in here?" I ask, "I can't see a thing."

With a distant click, the adjacent room lights up. I cringe and shut my eyes at the blast of searing white, waiting for them to adjust before I open them completely. There's a sound of something snapping, and half the lights go out. A moment later, I hear something crash to the floor. Hopefully nothing important.

Kit perches on my pod, nearly at eye level with me, "You have the list?"

"Right here." It's on the floor inside the doorway. I gather it up, along with the canisters and a civilian Corpus helmet lying nearby.

"Your taxi is in hangar three. I had to move it from one when the docking clamps broke."

"I was wondering about that." The shredded metal debris in two must have kept him from parking it there – the caretaker of this station will have to clean that up eventually.

The 'taxi', as Kit so eloquently put it, is a fairly standard small transport of Corpus design. Bright blue lights blink to life as we approach – unlike this animate junkyard, the ship is in perfect working order. Not exactly designed for a crew of one, but smaller transports can't bridge the distance from the Kuiper Belt out to Telisto.

(Not smaller transports of Corpus design, at least. Or Grineer. But I'm Cai Tanya, and I wouldn't know anything about that.)

"Safe journey," Kit says as I board.

I click my helmet into place as I reply, "Keep her together while I'm gone."


	2. Corpus

The ship hums quietly as I launch out into empty space. The journey is long, but I enjoy the silence. When Telisto's shadow fades from view, it seems for an eternity as if I'm not moving at all.

I think I'll go to Kronia. That way, I don't have to stop at the nearest relay, but nor will I be putting off landing until the last.

After a few hours, Saturn comes into view. I start seeing Lisets docking and leaving the relay.

I shiver, giving them a wide berth.

After disembarking, I make my way to the Concourse. Cool light fills the relay, in shades of blue, white, and teal. Tenno banners hang from the walls, which I've grown accustomed to.

The warframes, not so much.

I wonder how the world looks to the Tenno, having slept through the last few hundred years. Is it much different than they expected? Or do they even care, with so few things that pose even the slightest threat to them?

… Well, many have aligned themselves with the Steel Meridian, so I suppose they can't be all bad.

(Unless they plan to betray the syndicates, too.)

My interest lies primarily in the West Wing. Though I'm most sympathetic to the ideals of the Steel Meridian, I prefer to avoid the other two Eastern syndicates. Maybe I'll stop by on the way out, though.

" _Cai_?"

I pause, lifting my visor at the semi-familiar voice, "Killian?"

The broad-shouldered Perrin Sequence merchant grins from outside his syndicate's section, spreading his arms wide. I promptly leap into them, hugging him tightly before dropping back to the ground.

"Oof, there she is!" Killian looks relieved, "No one's seen you since that genetic _blob_ Vay Hek destroyed the relays. I was starting to get worried."

"I just needed some time. Hey, you wouldn't happen to know where I might find some neurodes, would you?"

Killian whistles, "Oh, wow. I might have a few connections, but you'd better have a pretty good load of oxium for that. What do you need _neurodes_ for?"

I just smile.

"Alright, keep your secrets. I can have a price for you in a few hours, and we can make the transaction in, say, three days?"

"I can make that. Thanks, Killian."

He's a bit bemused, "Any time. What are you going to want next, an argon crystal?"

I chuckle, but the idea is tantalizing. A few good things have come about with the revival of the Tenno, not the least being that resources that were impossible to obtain before are now actually within reach. There are _so many_ things that I could do with one good argon crystal.

But no. I don't need one. Maybe another day.

"Actually," I say, "I do have a bit of a shopping list today. Starting with the usual."

"Rations," Killian nods knowingly, "You know, if you just aligned with the Perrin Sequence, you wouldn't have to worry about food."

"Hey, if I ever went insane and joined a syndicate, you know which one I'd pick."

"The Steel Meridian is no place for a merchant, Cai."

The world seems to fade a little, "Killian, no syndicate is a place for me."

(You're all much too young.)

But a moment later, my smile is back, "Hey, your brother's out of the Corpus now, right? How's he adjusting?"

Killian brightens, "Pretty well, actually. The Tenno still freak him out, but I think he's starting to warm up to them. It's kinda scary, I don't think he ever would have left the Corpus if it weren't for that attack."

"He's lucky to have survived," I agree, "How's the family holding up?"

"A little better now, I think. It needs some time. Oh, but Tex'll be here for game night next week – you should drop by."

"I'll be sure to try."

I continue to chat amiably with Killian, and we're shortly joined by a friend of his from the Red Veil. A thinner, scarred man named Halt who grimaces when he realizes that I deal with the Corpus as well as syndicates, but seems appeased when I explain that I avoid them whenever possible.

(A different face deals with them. It's true, the Corpus is one of the most powerful and corrupt factions in the systems, but as with everything else, it's made of people. Most of them struggling to stay afloat in a society that tells every one that she is an asset, to be used or discarded as necessary.)

(They're the strongest carriers of the remnants of the Orokin, in culture and blood.)

Eventually I steer the conversation back to trade, and Halt breaks away for a few minutes while Killian and I discuss specifics. Sadly, the value of oxium has dropped recently, but I still have enough to see to my most immediate needs.

I visit the Red Veil section while Killian makes arrangements – I don't think any of my contacts in this syndicate survived the Formorian attacks, so I need to get some new ones. Halt seems surprised by my entrance, but that doesn't faze me as I approach him, "Hey, Killian mentioned you could use some steel…"

I give him what I'm pretty sure is a good deal on it, plus some gallium, since I'm mostly just trying to build a bridge. He warms up as we get to talking about people we've lost to various violent conflicts, though I hope this topic doesn't come up again after I've forgotten the names of those I mention. Which probably won't take long – my memory is rather exceptional, and not in a good way.

In any case, the time comes to meet back with the Perrin Sequence. Killian is chatting with a New Lokan woman when I arrive, but gestures for me to join.

"This is Cai Tanya," he says, "Freelance merchant. She needs to pick up some stuff, too. Cai, this is Ellia – New Loka."

I nod, "Everything done?"

"Yep, all good. We're over here." Killian starts walking toward the docking bay, and Ellia and I follow.

"Freelance, huh?" Ellia says, "That must be tough."

"I get by," I reply, "How about you? What is it you do?"

"Pilot. Mostly civilian transports, but I help the Perrin Sequence move around sometimes, as well."

"Hey," Killian says, "You saying we're not civilians?"

"I'm saying a merchant vessel is different from a simple transport."

"Ah. Fair enough."

"It's hard to make connections when you're moving around all the time," I note, "Are you planning on setting down roots eventually?"

"I don't know," Ellia shakes her head, "I kind of feel safer moving around. There's an awful lot of space out there – it's not too hard to just not be in the same place as someone else. But when you settle down, you don't have that, you know? It's harder to get away if something happens."

I frown, "So you plan to keep flying even if you take back Earth?"

"Maybe. But, maybe not – it may seem naïve, but I think if the time comes that we get Earth back, the system will be a safer place. It could be worth it to settle down, then."

"Here we are," Killian says, stopping by the loading ramp of a massive Corpus carrier, styled in the Perrin Sequence's colors, "Ladies first."

"Oh, please," Ellia replies, "Age before beauty."

I roll my eyes, and start up the ramp.

(The joke is lost on them.)

I'm back in the piercing blue of Corpus light. Larger-scale negotiations tend to take place on the neutral ground of the Concourse, but small, personal transactions are simpler to deal with on a syndicate's ship. I'm sure the Perrin Sequence will help me move the crates of circuits that I need, but I will need to be present for them to be allowed entrance to my ship.

Walls of crates are stacked neatly in ship's massive loading bay. Most of them look nearly identical, varying only in size – over the years, I've gotten some idea of their organizational system, but the labels are locked to all but Perrin Sequence agents. Some are even keyed specifically to higher-level agents. I'm not sure what would happen to someone who attempted to steal from the Perrin Sequence, but I'm sure it would not be pretty.

It seems oddly quiet in here.

"Looks like the lifters are getting maintenance," Killian says, unhooking a pad from his belt, "They should be back in a minute. So, Ellia, statuettes under five inches – we've got a few birds, a chesa kubrow, a dolphin, and–"

The air freezes.

I suck in a sharp breath, knees locking. Something grabs my wrists. Perrin Sequence agents emerge from behind rows of crates, MOAs beside them and ospreys rising into the air above. One stands in an arctic Eximus suit, watching as the rest restrain the three of us.

The ramp has risen behind us, sealing us in. Screaming isn't going to help. No sound is going to escape this bay.

"Killian," the Eximus says, "Your father would like you to know how very disappointed he is. Your destructive tendencies are tearing the family apart, not to mention ruining our reputation, and so his hand has been forced."

Not Perrin Sequence. Corpus.

"What is this?" Ellia demands, "This is a relay! You can't–"

"I hope," the Eximus interrupts, "Your _pacifist_ friends consider the consequences of saying the wrong thing to someone who holds their lives in his hands."

 _No syndicate is pacifist_ , I think, _pacifists don't have hit squads_. Though, compared to the Corpus, I can see where his mistake comes from.

"What are you, New Loka? That's the green one, right?"

Ellia just growls at him.

The Eximus turns to me, "What about you?"

"Freelance," I answer, through teeth gritted to keep them from chattering, "Whatever's going on here, I'd appreciate it if you left me out of it."

Killian's head snaps around toward me, "What?"

"Be that as it may, the situation is delicate." He gestures toward me and Ellia, "Put these two with the others – I'll speak with you later, freelancer."

The Eximus' aura shuts off, and his Corpus foot soldiers drag Ellia and I to our feet, MOAs flanking us as we're marched deeper into the ship. The floor vibrates beneath my feet, enormous engines humming to life. We're lifting off. I put odds at about fifty-fifty they won't kill us – under normal circumstances I'd put them higher, but this is Killian's father. I've dealt with him before.

(Dated him for a brief time, actually, in my last life. He's quite handsome, and endearingly awkward in a personal environment – I can see why he has so many kids. Cutthroat businessman, though, and while his temper isn't quick, it is _devastating_.)

(He's also the reason that, when it came time to change faces, I found and befriended Killian. It helps to know personal information about someone before formally meeting them.)

(Come to think of it, I probably should have seen this coming…)

We're shortly locked in a sizeable closet with a few other New Lokans inside. I suspect there's no room in the brig – while standard Corpus carriers have plenty of prison cells, the Perrin Sequence generally cut that number down to increase storage space. These Corpus probably saved the limited cell space for actual Perrin Sequence agents.

Which is a concerning thought.

"What happened here?" I ask.

A young man, sitting on a table, answers, "They hijacked the machines, then came out from where they were hiding in the cargo hold. When someone new comes on board, they find out the syndicate. Perrin Sequence goes to the cells, everyone else comes here."

Huh. I was right on the mark with the prisoner allocation, though that's not terribly helpful if I don't know _why_.

An older woman, nodding toward the first speaker, adds, "He was here with the original crew. The rest of us were taken at the relay."

I nod, "Have they said anything about what they're planning?"

"Just that if we don't make trouble, we'll all make it back home alive."

Oh, that's a good sign. Maybe I'll just be able to ride this out after all. I'm sure Killian will meet a terrible fate, but there's really nothing I can do about that.

(He was a good contact. I'll probably remember his name for at least half a year.)

"We can't just sit on our thumbs," Ellia says, and turns to the boy, "You say you were part of the original crew? That means you know the layout of the ship."

"Whoa!" I say, "Wait just a second! If they said they're going to let us go–"

"You can't actually _believe_ them," Ellia interrupts, incredulous.

(The most worrying thing about Killian's father is that he's a man of his word. But I'm Cai Tanya, and I wouldn't know anything about that.)

"I'm inclined to," I reply.

"What does it matter, anyway?" A man asks, "They're _evil_. If we don't try to do _something_ , we're just allowing their taint to spread. How can we call ourselves human then?"

 _Easily_ , I think, _very, very easily._

That's the thing about New Lokans, though. 'Human' doesn't mean 'flawed' to them. Instead, it's representative of an ideal – an amalgamation of the very best parts of humanity. It's something to aspire to, though only the delusional would think it attainable.

And it carries heavy weight with this crowd. Their backs straighten, a determined light sparking in their eyes.

I don't like where this is going.

The door opens behind me, and a Corpus crewman – now out of his Perrin Sequence disguise – beckons, "Come on, freelancer."

"Hey," Ellia says, "You can't trust them."

I reply, "I know."

A larger MOA moves in front of the door as I follow the crewman, two ospreys flanking it. Pretty good guard for the six or seven unarmed people inside, even if it doesn't include any operators.

Come to think of it, I see distinctly few people on the rather lengthy walk to the bridge – I wonder if the crowd that jumped us in the loading bay was the entirety of the Corpus crew? It would make sense if they needed a small strike force to have even a chance of this hijack working, but it's also a pretty big gamble. The ship's original crew must be quite a lot larger, so if they were armed, they'd only need control of a few machines to retake the ship.

That's probably why the Perrin Sequence is being held separately. Since this is their home turf, they've got pretty good odds of taking back control if they're not split up from other people, and from each other.

Though… that doesn't quite explain why Perrin Sequence newly coming on board wouldn't be grouped together with New Loka.

The red lights on the door in front of us blink to green, and then we're walking onto the bridge.

A man stands before the windows, hands clasped, his back turned. He's still wearing the Eximus suit, though without the helmet. Beyond the windows, Saturn's rings cut through the stars. I can see Enceladus drifting below us, its geysers feeding more ice into the rings.

"Cai Tanya," the man greets me.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure," I reply.

"Wen Til. I noticed the Corpus has had some dealings with you in the past."

"Ah, yes. I've occasionally needed to use incentives to ensure the other end of the bargain was held, but I've heard your family's word is better than most."

"So it is," he sounds appreciative, and turns to face me. Those sharp angles look familiar – I think this is Killian's father's brother, so I suspect what I'm seeing is the resemblance. "As I mentioned before, however, that reputation has been put in jeopardy. There are factions within the Corpus that have noticed several of our family defecting to the Perrin Sequence, and it's started some ugly rumors."

"I can imagine," I say, "However, as _I_ said before, it's none of my business."

"Perhaps it could be."

"… How do you mean?"

There's a sharp glint in his eyes as he smiles, "You're free to go. There are some small transports in the hangar – you should be able reach any of the inner planets from here."

"What's the catch?" I ask.

"Only that you remember this kindness, particularly when considering your business dealings in the future."

Hmm, remembering could be a problem. "Fair enough. Perhaps we'll be dealing with each other again soon."

"I look forward to it," Wen Til says.

I start to turn, but then pause, "Ah, just one more question."

"Ask."

"You're planning for everyone on this ship to live, correct? With the possible exception of Killian?"

Wen Til hesitates before answering, "The New Lokans have my word that they will not come to harm, so long as they do not resist us."

… Ah. So the Perrin Sequence crew has no such promise. The pieces click into place.

Killian's family isn't prominent enough within the Corpus to call this shot outright, but staging this incident will work just as well. A crew of dead Perrin Sequence, with New Loka hostages to serve as witness – the merchant syndicate will be compelled to retaliate, which the Board of Directors is certainly not going to take well.

They're going to start a war between the Corpus and the Perrin Sequence.

"Is something wrong?"

I sigh, "Oh, I just don't like conflict. It won't be a problem to you."

And this is why, even if I wanted to align with a syndicate, I couldn't. I won't serve a cause outside of myself. No one here – including Killian – is anything more than an acquaintance to me. I'm not going to risk my life for them.

(I wouldn't risk my life for my own children.)

Wen Til narrows his eyes, "Make sure it isn't. Conflict is inevitable – if you don't step carefully, you may just find _everything_ taken from you."

The world seems to slow. I can't hear my heartbeat.

(My husband. My children. My civilization.)

( _No._ )

* * *

The world blurs into focus. Green Corpus letters glow at the edges of my vision, detailing the integrity of my… bulky suit that I'm apparently wearing now. I'm out in open space, and Neptune is a small blue spot in the distance. There are magnetic clamps built into my gloves, holding me to the–

To the hull of a Perrin Sequence carrier. Oh dear. A moment ago, I was on the bridge, and now I'm… well, _on_ the bridge.

(It's been a while since this has happened.)

Sometimes, when someone says something, or I encounter something that hits too close to home, I black out. Or, more accurately, I lose time – while I don't remember these blackouts, I'm certainly aware during them, and tend to behave in a manner that I can only describe as _insane_. It's the biggest headache in the world to wake up and try to figure out what I've just done.

It's a fair distance from Saturn to Neptune, and carriers aren't the fastest of ships – I've probably lost at least an hour. More if the ship didn't make a beeline to here.

At least the ship appears to be intact. There are a few windows that I can see, none of which show indications of catastrophic failure inside. My personal life support is near optimal levels – I probably haven't been out here very long.

Through one of those windows, someone peeks out from behind a crate. It's Ellia. She signals me. I'm pretty deep in shadow, so she must have known where to look.

So there's some kind of plan in motion. That's. Just. Great.

Ellia signals again, and I start to feel tension curling through my fingers. Clearly I'm supposed to do something.

Okay, don't panic, just think about the problem. If I'm aiding Ellia in subterfuge, then New Loka must be enacting a plan to take over the ship. I'm probably supposed to know what that plan is, but now I'm just going to have to figure it out as I go.

Focus. I can't directly access any systems from here, but there are several sections that I can look into without being seen. Most notably, the bridge – it's empty, though I don't know how to tell Ellia that, and I find it doubtful that that's what she's looking for anyway. I'm pretty sure she wants me to _do_ something, not just pass along information.

Ellia's starting to look concerned. Not good.

My heart is pounding, breath roaring in my ears. I start digging through my suit, as much as I can with my limited range of motion. If I have the right tools, I can get under the hull, and then it doesn't matter what New Loka's planned. I can just–

There's something hooked to my shoulder. I retrieve it.

Oh, yes. This will do nicely.

Ellia doesn't seem to be put at ease as I activate the heat knife, but I ignore her, making my way along the ship's surface. If I'm remembering the specs correctly, there should be power conduits right about… here.

I sever the bindings on one of the panels. It floats away into space, but there's only solid circuitry beneath.

(Did they change the design again?)

No, wait, I want the one to the left.

Light flashes at the corner of my vision. I glance over – MOAs have filled Ellia's room. One hits her with an electric beam. She appears to be screaming.

 _That's what you get for playing the hero_ , I think as I pull out the correct panel. If Wen Til doesn't want an outright battlefront with New Loka, he'll probably have taken precautions to keep any of those hostages from dying. If I'm caught, however, I'll certainly be killed.

Good thing I'm a bit of a tinker.

I drift down into the ship's veins (that term was more literal, once). A vast amount of empty space surrounds the massive power conduit running through here, illuminated by the glow of streaming plasma inside. The light dances through this metal cavern, vanishing into maintenance shafts along the walls. Several cables cut through the space. They're about as wide as I am, and they look like the filaments of a spider's web next to the conduit.

I spin the heat knife in my fingers. Where to start?

Well, let's get the combat machines out of the way. I reroute power from propulsion to send a pervasive electromagnetic pulse through the ship. That should knock out every MOA and osprey on board (and energy weapons. And personal life support systems), plus it'll stall the engines for a bit. That's two birds with one stone. What else, what else…?

I can reach just about anywhere inside the ship through those maintenance tunnels, though there aren't a lot of access points to the pressurized sections. I need to get to the indoor systems to do anything delicate, but I can't cut my way inside. Shielding won't have been affected by the EMP, so any hole I try to make will be sealed long before I can fit through. But going in through a pressurization chamber makes me a sitting duck to anyone on the other side…

So I'll just have to get rid of the shields.

(So much power in the automation. That's what the sentients used against us.)

This one's a bit trickier than the EMP. Mostly because the pieces involved are unwieldy – the simplest way to do this is to chop a hole directly into the power conduit, so it starts venting enough plasma to shut down non-essential systems. That plasma needs somewhere to go, however, or else this chamber is quickly going to fill with the volatile material. And then it'll explode.

There's not much chance of survivors if this place explodes.

I carve a few small chunks out of the wall – a single large, pie-shaped piece would be better, but that would take far too much time. This will serve my purpose.

There are several sensors throughout the chamber, for tracking the conduit's status. I rip one out of its place, taking it to one of the thick cables. After severing the cable, I open up the sensor, and get to welding and tying the parts together. Stitching together all the pieces I need.

With a makeshift plug attached to a cable that I can barely wrap my arms around, I start cutting into the conduit.

It's probably been about half an hour since the EMP – anyone with basic technical experience should be able to get affected devices back up and running at this point. Hopefully the Perrin Sequence have taken back control, but I'm not banking on that.

Blue-white light sears against the heat knife as I carve into the glass, then blasts that glass into my face. Warning lights snap on within my helmet as my shields plummet. I ignore them, shoving the plug into the opening – blocking off the venting plasma – and fusing it to the glass. That'll reroute massive amounts of power to propulsion, which is going to do absolutely nothing until someone deals with the engines.

That's definitely enough of a diversion to affect the shields, though I'm not sure it'll be enough for me to cut a door into life zones. I'll just have to find out.

Most systems access is on the bridge, but I'm not too keen on going to such a visible spot. The engine room, on the other hand, should be able to reach everything I need to get to. Plus, several of the maintenance tunnels lead directly there, since it has most of the ship's small pressurization chambers.

I use one of those tunnels to get into the engine room's ceiling. The heat knife is super-charged from its contact with the main conduit's power, and slices through the metal like butter.

Just before I finish the door, though, the blade flashes like a firework and dies.

Too much super-charge. Pale blue light crawls through the cuts – that's the shields, sealing the breaks to protect the atmosphere inside. I curse in a dead language, and hook the broken tool back to my shoulder. I may still be able to use its parts.

Looks like I'm going through a chamber, after all. I switch to the Infested language.

I go to the chamber that seems most likely to have passed beneath notice, and start the pressurization sequence. The airlock closes like a tomb behind me. Air hisses into the small container, and I hold my breath, braced for a firing squad.

After a long, agonizing minute, the door into the engine room opens. There are only deactivated MOAs on the other side. I exhale.

Much as I want to tear this clunky spacesuit off, I have no idea how much time I have. So instead I only pull off the gloves as I run to a control console. It takes a manual bypass – I open up the machine and stab the offending circuit board with the broken heat knife – to get into the system, and then it takes only a moment to put the engine room in complete lockdown.

My hands are shaking. The ship is silent as death. I'm safe, for now.

I remove the rest of the suit, relishing the freedom of simple clothes. From here, I can get into the mainframe, and then hack into the cameras. It's time to see where the pieces have fallen.

A handful of displays blink to life, and I toggle through different inputs to find what I'm looking for. The Perrin Sequence and New Loka have the cargo hold. A few of them are unboxing advanced attack drones from the crates. That's good.

Oh, but the Corpus are holding Ellia, two other New Lokans, and a Perrin Sequence agent on the bridge. That's not so good.

It seems no one has tried to get the MOAs and ospreys back up. I suppose that's logical, since for all intents and purposes, the machines were dead for a little while. If no one knows that it was an EMP that took them out, then there's no reason to think that it's possible to reactivate them.

Well, that makes this easy. I open a channel to the bridge, and pull some stiff wires out of my broken heat knife, "Hey, Killian."

The occupants of the cargo hold collectively jump, and Killian responds, "Cai?! What happened? Where are you?"

Oh, there's no way I'm answering either of those – the first because I don't _know_ what happened, and the second because this channel is _not_ secure. I open up one of the larger MOAs lying around here, and ask, "Can you get a message to the Board of Directors?"

"Why?"

"Big picture, Killian. Your family is trying to start a war that the Corpus doesn't want, but will engage in if they're provoked. We can give them an out, though – we just need to tell the Board of Directors what Wen Til is doing. Then they can disavow his actions, which will allow the Perrin Sequence to retaliate against him without Corpus protection."

"Wow. That's. You're like a completely different person when you're under pressure, you know that?"

I grimace, "You're only now noticing?"

"No, it was pretty clear when you told my uncle that none of this matters to you. Everything after that was just… uh… well, I'm glad you're on our side. If we can take the bridge, then I can get the message to the Board."

"Consider it done." My wires are set in the MOA – I turn it on.

The combat machine whirs to life, climbing to its feet. A moment later, the MOAs nearby follow suit. The first one is transmitting its commands – _capture Corpus_ – to the others, and soon every autonomous machine that was caught in the EMP will have the same orders.

(Silly children, using such easily-manipulated technology.)

I release the engine room's lockdown, allowing these MOAs to carry out their orders. Wen Til has probably sealed off the bridge, but–

I chuckle as I look at the cameras. The machines that were already present on the bridge have engaged with the Corpus, and it's clear the fight isn't going to last long.

… Wait. Wen Til isn't there.

A quiet buzz of electricity nearby. I look up, and my breath catches.

Wen Til stands by the door, a supra in hand, the door's keypad open beside him. Small blue arcs jump across its surface – the door is sealed, and he's jammed the lock. We're both trapped in here.

"Airlock pressurization shows up on the sensors," he says, voice soft, "There's an awful lot of power in here, as I'm sure you've noticed. Impressive work, still – you're quite the engineer. And quite the liar."

"It was a good plan," I reply, "You might have pulled it off, if you were just able to hold the ship."

"Why the betrayal? I gave you a good deal."

"Favors aren't good for me. I can never remember them."

"Well," Wen Til hefts his rifle, "My reputation is gone. When my idiot nephew sends that message, I expect it will be a challenge just to keep my life. So, there's just one thing left to do."

I start to back away.

On the second step, Wen Til is aiming at me.

I dive behind the control console. With a concussive blast, the supra's bolts cut straight through it, and pain explodes through my hip.

(I'm screaming.)

I reach for the shredded skin. Some of the damage is from the shot. A lot is from shrapnel. There's so much blood, I can't. I can't–

"Loyalty to your friends, right?" Wen Til asks. He's standing above me, "I'm surprised you've lived so long, with that kind of vulnerability."

No. I know why I did this, and it wasn't for some noble purpose. It wasn't to save the crew, or to prevent yet another war in this blood-filled system. It was simply because he reminded me of things better left forgotten, and I want him to suffer for that.

(The past doesn't exist. The past is nothing but a dream.)

Wen Til scowls as he places the supra's barrels against my head, "Whatever."

(Looks like I'm not making it to game night.)


	3. Grineer

"Hey, hey! Calm down, you're okay!"

Kit.

I'm not dead.

Of course I'm not dead.

I force my mouth shut, stopping the screams. Some whimpers still escape, though, and I can't help but feel the loss of Cai Tanya, even though I'd already thought I'd lost her to the Formorian. There's no way I can pretend she didn't die this time, and it'll be a hundred years before I feel safe enough to use my own face again.

"Please tell me you didn't die _again_ ," Kit says.

I don't respond.

"You at least got the parts, right? You know, all those things that I need in order to stay in one piece?"

"They're with the ship. At a relay. The Perrin Sequence is probably going to appropriate it all as soon as they find out that Cai Tanya is dead. Which is going to happen within the next few hours, at most."

"What are you saying?" Kit asks. I think his voice is trembling, "You've lost your contacts, our Corpus ship, and _everything we need to stay alive_?"

"I can fix this," I reply, "Or, I can– I can stitch it back together. Just start growing a new clone. Different face, obviously."

"I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?"

"I mean _I can't_ ," Kit hisses, "I used all our plastids for the last one."

My fingers go cold. I can't make plastids. "All of them?"

"I have enough to make a foot. Can you do anything with a foot?"

No. I can't do anything with a foot.

"Okay," I say, trying to rub some warmth back into my arms, "That's fine. We're fine. We're not out of options. We still have… uh…"

Kit's eyes narrow, "If I had access to the vault–"

"No!" I snap, "We protect the vault, Kit. We do not open it. _Ever_."

"Do you have an alternative?"

"… The Grineer. They have plastids."

Kit lets out an exasperated sigh, "Desperate times call for desperate measures, I suppose. If you're _sure_ , then you'd better go right now – I think I can keep running long enough to build another clone, but with the travel time, it's going to be close."

No rest for the weary. I take a few deep breaths, then lie back down. I don't want to close my eyes. I don't want to do this. This is always so much worse than–

I open my eyes. I'm floating.

 _I'm not Grineer._

Glowing liquid whirls around me, draining. I feel sick.

 _I'm not Grineer._

I'm standing on solid ground. I can't see.

"You have visual implants, right?" The kitty asks, "You're going to need them – I don't think I can spare the power to turn the lights on."

I twist a bolt in my skull, and the pitch dark world turns neon green. Pretty kitty.

 _I'm not Grineer._

(I have the skin, but I'm not the same on the inside. I should have combat training, but I don't. Grineer are supposed to all be exactly the same, but there's nobody like me anywhere.)

"Do you remember your name?" Kit asks.

"No. Not for a long time."

"The Grineer's name, not the Orokin's."

"I– I don't–"

"It's Glen Dekei – can you say that?"

"Glen Dekei," the sick feeling fades a little, as I remember what I need to do, "But it doesn't matter. I can use any name. I don't need to talk, I just need plastids."

"Good. Go!"

* * *

The trip is shorter this time. Distance is trivial once I've crossed the vast emptiness between Telisto and Neptune, so it doesn't much matter that I'm going deeper into the system – all the way to Mars – but still, Grineer ships tend to forego shields in favor of weapons and speed. We can't armor ships the way we armor people, so instead we board fast, break the Corpus' toys, and then break the Corpus.

(Get in. Get out. _Don't be noticed_.)

There should be a crew on this ship. Where–

(They're dead.)

Ah, right. I couldn't stand the sight of my fallen brothers and sisters, so I ejected them into space. There's no trace of them here now.

The Red Planet comes into view, quickly drawing closer. Phobos drifts nearby, little more than a tiny island in orbit. The intercom clicks, and the clone race's guttural language comes through, "Grineer, what is your ship's designation?"

(Deleted, once stories started spreading about the two-M-seven-ten, otherwise known as the ghost ship Kore Dim. Now all of the ship's information just looks like corrupted data, to anyone who cares to look.)

"I don't know, sir," I answer, "Everyone is dead. They're all dead."

"What is your name, sister?"

"Glen Dekei."

"Do you know how to dock, Glen Dekei?"

"I do, sir."

"Good. We're opening the hangar. Proceed."

I can see it. I guide the ship down, watching the hangar doors as they rise to meet me. I barely feel the touchdown – the artificial gravity must have been turned down to make the landing easier.

The gravity is back up when I disembark, however, and a heavily-spliced Grineer commander is waiting on the landing pad, with an attendant on either side – a lancer and a heavy gunner. I wonder if they're lieutenants, or just muscle?

(The scorpion uniform feels so vulnerable when looking at those reinforced armor suits, but freedom of movement is more important than armor. If I get in a fight, my only hope is to _run_.)

"Glen Dekei," the commander says, "What was your mission?"

(This one is too controlling. Get rid of him.)

"They're all dead," I reply. I don't have to fake my shaking voice.

"How did they die?"

"They're all dead."

"Why did you come here?"

"They're all dead."

The Grineer growls, and turns on his heel, "Defective in the head. Resh, keep an eye on her. Make sure she doesn't break anything."

"Yes, sir!" One of the attendants salutes, and I admire her enthusiasm.

(This one will do.)

Once the commander and lancer have left, and we're out of earshot of the other Grineer in the hangar, I look Resh straight in the eyes – a bit difficult, given her helmet, and how she towers over me, "Where are the plastids?"

Resh blinks down at me, "What?"

"Show me, now."

"O-okay. This way."

The other Grineer give us long looks as we leave. I know that I'm not walking right, but any behavioral anomaly can be explained away with 'defective in the head'. I'm only in danger of being caught if I stay long enough for my small abnormalities to accumulate. Then they'll want me to go to a Grineer fixer, and the first thing that fixer will want to do is see what's gone wrong with me internally.

(Bad bad _bad news_.)

Resh leads me to a storage room a distressing distance from the hangar, "Were plastids involved in your mission?"

I pause, then answer, "Yes."

"How?"

I don't say anything.

"You know," Resh says, "I find that most mental blocks have a way around. People like to use 'head defect' to write off anyone that they don't want to deal with, but those are often the most interesting to talk to."

"So you like–" um. Hmm, I don't think the Grineer have a word for 'psychology'.

"I like the wrong ones, yes."

That's an odd mentality for a Grineer to have. I wonder if she's thought about the side she's fighting for, or if she's merely following the life she was born to?

"How many plastids do you need, Glen Dekei?"

"How many do you have?"

Resh taps a couple of lockers, "We've got a few in here, but most of them are in those crates over there."

"Hey…"

"What?"

I know I'm going to regret saying this, but, "What do you think of the Red Veil?"

Resh tenses.

"I mean, a lot of 'wrong' Grineer go there, right? Why do you think they do that?"

(Interesting to think about, isn't it? What would you do, if you were one of them?)

Resh shakes her head, "I think they have the wrong idea about corruption. They're convinced that there's something wrong with the Empire, and that there's something redeemable among the Orokin-descended. I can understand the first point, but not the second."

(Oh, pity. You could do well with them.)

"These are for a cloning facility, right?"

I nod, and she effortlessly lifts two giant crates, "Well then, we'd better make sure you're not delayed any–"

Alarms blare.

I freeze.

(No no no–)

Resh is gone. She just dropped the crates and ran. Which means the cause is elsewhere, which means it's not me. Given how fast Resh reacted, there must be battle somewhere. But then who–

I would have seen Corpus on the way in.

… _No_.

I shut the door, my hands fumbling as I lock it. I'm trying to remember how to breathe. The soft ventilation is a roar in my ears, and I have to discard the idea to squeeze into one of the lockers. I wouldn't fit.

I hide behind them, instead.

The seconds tick by. I hunker between the lockers and the wall, forcing air through my lungs.

(They can't get in here. I… I don't think they can get in here.)

The alarms stop.

I don't move.

It's quiet for a long moment, and I wonder if maybe–

Muffled screams from outside. The slice of a blade through armor. Again and again. I squeeze my eyes shut, choking on tears. Don't think about it. Don't remember.

(It's just a dream.)

The sounds of combat move on, and I shakily get to my feet. I have to run. The Grineer will definitely lock me up when they find out I hid from a fight, and that's if the Tenno isn't here to kill everyone anyway. My station will fail if I don't get out of here. No matter what happens now, I will die if I don't move _right now_.

I can't lift two crates like Resh could, but my implants are enough to carry one without too much trouble. I unlock the door, shaking as I check the hallway outside. There are plenty of Grineer corpses, but no warframe.

I heft my crate, and then _run_.

This is what this body is optimized for. The ground flies beneath my feet, special reserves pouring power into my legs. The dead lie around every corner. I pass the bodies of two heavy gunners. One of them is probably Resh.

There's the hangar. And there's the Kore Dim. The bay has closed, but the ship's doors are still open. I run inside, dropping the crate and immediately turning to close the–

There's a shadow at one of the hangar's entrances. A twisted version of Valkyr is staring at me.

I slam the control panel, and dash for the bridge. Sensors beep a warning as I seal the ship – the warframe is trying to punch a hole through the door that I slammed in her face. Her rifle isn't up to the task, however. I may not have much in the way of shielding, but it's more than enough to hold against a weapon designed for ground fighting.

I return fire, and the blasts force her to retreat out of range. Then two shots to destroy the ceiling, and I fire thrusters.

I'm back in open space. Home fr–

My sensors beep another warning. Interplanetary propulsion isn't responding, and the shields are taking damage from something – not much, but it'll wear through given time.

I do a sensor sweep, and find a Liset and something very small.

Oh. The Valkyr has an archwing. Of _course_.

"We made you too well," I growl, transferring controls so I can run to the engine room. I could theoretically destroy the Liset, but that wouldn't get rid of the warframe, and my weapons can't target much of anything smaller than that landing craft. Nor can I outrun it, if the Tenno decides to give chase.

Well, I can't outrun it with the Kore Dim's current configuration, at least.

There's still a way out, though, and it lies in the fact that almost all technology in the system can traces its roots directly back to the Orokin Empire. In most cases, that doesn't mean much. With interplanetary ships, however, there are certain artifacts left over in the design of the propulsion engines that can be exploited. With luck, there will be enough there to do what I need.

This is going to be trickier than just directing more power to propulsion, though. The things I need are buried within centuries of redesign by an increasingly unstable population of clones. I still have better chances with this than I would with a Corpus vessel, though – the Grineer, at least, were made to build. And since they _are_ clones, much of what they originally learned to create has carried over the years.

(Old knowledge, dragged from its grave to make the Formorians.)

There's a panel connected to the wall here, displaying the status of various systems. Interplanetary propulsion is completely red, and shields are still slowly dropping. At the rate they're going, I estimate no more than ten minutes before the archwing can start cutting through the hull. That is not a lot of time to re-engineer.

There's the interplanetary systems.

I retrieve a laser from the tool closet, and rip them apart.

(The Grineer never understood. They cast away their power, and didn't even know it.)

Eight more minutes. I pull the core from the molten steel, and jump over to the monitor. I direct each of the Kore Dim's guns to point directly away from the ship. As they start to move into position, I hop back to open the orbital propulsion systems.

Seven more minutes. Here's the hard part. I need to splice this core with the orbital one, but one wrong move will render one or both of them inert. Or just destroy the orbital propulsion, leaving me with no way left to move the ship.

(Well, the weapons could provide some thrust. Nothing that'll do me any good, though.)

I take a deep breath, and try to ignore the countdown in my head.

The seconds feel like shallow cuts as I work. Stripped of their gold casings, the two cores glow with life, seeming almost eager to be joined, but I have to go slow. Careful, methodical.

I'm not used to being careful. I'm better at ripping things apart and smashing them together in just the right way to make them function. Speed and precision are what have kept me alive until now, not… care.

 _There_.

A single core radiates murky orange light in my hands, a needle-like hole piercing its center, framed by sharp metal wires arranged in a rough hexagonal configuration. Almost done.

I take the discarded casing and the laser, and jab the one into the other, holding them above the core. The gold melts quickly, and I adjust my hold so that the liquid drips down at just the right angle to hit the needle-thin hole. The core's glow starts to fluctuate, shifting between shades of rust and wildfire.

I pick up a spare bit of scrap metal, and slash it across my hand. Biting down on a hiss, I drip my blood into the molten gold.

The core flashes brilliant yellow, pulsing like a heart.

I smile, just a little. Then jump back to my feet, going for the systems. My bleeding hand is in a fist, pressed against my stomach. It's been more than seven minutes – the shields are completely gone, and hull breach is imminent.

That's fine. I close my eyes and turn on the thrusters.

Blinding light stabs against my eyelids. The energy is looking for somewhere to go, it needs channels to disperse. This ship isn't built with towers, but ultimately it's not the finer points of construction that are important.

The light fades.

I open my eyes. The warm metal-and-earth tones of the Grineer ship have paled, the engines' hum muted as they glow with the iridescence of sunlight on snow. The air is cooling. The damage has ceased, but isn't repairing, and the weapons are offline and throwing dozens of errors, though the system can't identify what's wrong with them. It doesn't recognize the power that's being channeled through those guns, stuck like spikes away from the main body of the Kore Dim.

I've entered the Void.

Tension melts away from my muscles, and my knees collapse. My heart is pounding in my throat, and I'm laughing, giddy with the knowledge that a Tenno came for me, but I'm still alive!

When my legs stop feeling like water, I climb to my feet, still gasping and chuckling at once. On the way back to the bridge, I take a moment to admire the pure white emptiness outside the windows. My footsteps are muffled against the steel floor, the only disturbance to this perfect silence. If I close my eyes, I can almost remember–

(No.)

I shake that thought off, reaching for navigation. Most of the ship's systems are completely unresponsive – the Void's energies aren't friendly to technology that hasn't been specifically designed to flow with them. The Kore Dim should be able to withstand it for a short time, however, and I don't need to be here for very long at all. If I can just find one landmark – some defunct tower on Mercury, perhaps, that's been lost in here…

Huh. I'm getting weak signals from both Mercury and Earth. I didn't realize there were any towers left on humanity's home planet.

Well, it's fortuitous for me in any case. Having two points of reference makes it easier to triangulate my position, which allows me to quickly set a course for Telisto. I reach my home within minutes.

The victory is hollow, however. It feels like lifting a heavy weight just to shut off the engine, returning me to a night where the Sun is little more than another star. The Kore Dim is dark, its Void-choked systems struggling back to life. Telisto is a blank spot in the sky, and I can't see my station, but I know where it is.

I'm ahead of schedule, at least. The hours that I saved by going through the Void will certainly be helpful in keeping my station alive.

Kit's voice clicks over a new channel, "How long have you been there?"

"I just arrived, Kit."

"Oh, no. We're dead, aren't we? There's no way you could have gotten back this fast if–"

"I went through the Void. I have the plastids, but this ship is dead in the water – it doesn't have any way to travel through normal space anymore. I need you to break the transference."

"Got it."

I blink, and I'm waking up in a pod. No implants embedded in my flesh, and my head feels clearer.

Kit sits on the floor, tail shifting behind him, "How do you plan to get that ship back in the hangar? I'm guessing whatever you did to its propulsion isn't an easy fix."

"I'll just push it into a collision course," I reply, retrieving my wings, "After I get the plastids out, of course. What's its current heading?"

"It'll fall into a rapidly decaying orbit in a couple of days. I suggest you wait until… about three in the morning tomorrow, to make any adjustments. We'll be close to alignment then, and you shouldn't have to do much more than slow it down so it doesn't break anything when we catch it."

I nod, "Can the clone last that long?"

"Without an operator, she'll die within minutes, but I can repair her with the plastids we already have."

"Ah, good. I'd hate to have to make another one."

"I have a question."

"What is that?"

"That ship is the only one we have now. How do you expect to reach civilization, as Corpus, in a Grineer ghost ship that can only move through the Void? More importantly, how do you plan to get _back?_ "

I pause, then say, "Let's worry about that later. First things first – I'm going to go pick up those plastids."

* * *

I was half-afraid the crate wouldn't have what we need. Wouldn't that just be the icing on the cake, if I went through all this trouble just to come back empty-handed?

But no, Resh was correct about the crate's contents. A new Corpus clone is growing in the tubes now, with a new face and a new name. We have plenty of plastids to spare, and I have some time to relax. Or, try to relax, at least. The station is growing ever closer to collapse, so the clone is going to be young, to shave several hours off the growing time. It's going to make some things more complicated, socially, but I think I can work around that.

I press my hand against glass, looking through a small porthole into the Kore Dim's bridge. Inside, a lightly-armored Grineer woman lies dead on the floor, her eyes blank and staring. There's a queasy feeling twisting through my stomach.

(It's unnerving to see myself like this.)

It's not like she was ever me, though. She was just a dream. I push away from the ship, angling back toward the station. I've taken as much time as I dare to sleep, but it's not enough. There's a special kind of tension that burns across my nerves after a violent death like Cai Tanya's, and it's not helped at all by that close call with the Tenno. I can barely close my eyes.

I want to break something. But everything is already broken.

When I return to the station, Kit is waiting.

"You were out for a while," he notes, "Reconsidering your options, perhaps?"

"No," I unhook canisters full of steel ball bearings and coiled wire – fresh from Telisto – from my belt, setting them on a shelf. Those won't be worth a great deal, but they also won't draw too much attention to a girl without a past.

What _will_ draw attention, however, is the sizeable diamond that I crushed together from the gas giant's atmosphere. Unfortunately, I need something very valuable to afford what I need, but just carrying this thing would be dangerous to an established trader, let alone a child with no connections. I can only pray that it doesn't shove me straight into another violent death.

"Wow," Kit says when I pull the diamond out, "So, should I just start building the next clone, then? Because this one clearly isn't going to last a day."

"I can make it work. Just trust me."

"I find that difficult, given your recent track record."

I slam the diamond down on the shelf, "What do you want from me, Kit?"

"Access to my own memory would be a start. Or how about something smaller, like _my real name?_ "

"I don't remember your real name!"

"Yeah, I figured, since you don't even remember your own!"

"Then what's the problem? Who needs a past, anyway?"

"I get why you'd want to bury your own past," Kit hisses, his fur spiking outward, "But what right does that give you to keep mine away from me?"

I freeze, "I… told you about…?"

"Oh, come on, it's been centuries! Of course I've put some of the pieces together!"

(Don't wonder about the pieces he's talking about. Don't remember what I might've said in the past. It's all just sleep-talking.)

I snap, "The data that you want is in the vault. We do not open the vault!"

"Then at least bring me with you! Why do you keep me locked in here, when I could help you? I could talk to other Cephalons–"

"Because you're a _prototype_ , Kit! You can barely manage half the systems on this ship! If you met another Cephalon, they wouldn't just be able to override your mind, they would be _embarrassed_ by how easy it is! The only reason I keep you around is so I have _something like_ a person to talk to!"

Kit's eyes are wide. My heart pounds against my ribs. I can't feel my fingers.

"I–" I stutter, "I'm sorry. I–"

"No," Kit says. His voice is cold, "I understand. And I think it would have been better for the whole system if you'd gone with your family on the Ten-Zero."

… Where did the floor go?

("I'll meet you there.")

Wait. No. Stop.

( _All the adults were gone._ )

The past doesn't exist.

("Two of my children are adults–")

The past is nothing but a dream.

( _The capital has fallen! The Ten-O–_ )

(I'm screaming.)


	4. Orokin

I'm on a ship. Somewhere between Neptune and Earth. I'm not sure how I got here.

 _I'll meet you there_.

Ah, of course. I'm going to meet up with my husband and children.

Wait.

I snap the ship to a shuddering halt. Realize with horror that on the way out, I didn't take the Kore Dim. And I didn't do anything to disguise myself as _anything_ other than what I am. No, that would be _far_ too rational.

I – not a decoy clone, but _I_ , complete with glowing eyes and golden mask – am sitting right next to Jupiter in a personal Orokin transport.

And there's a Corpus station here that's just noticed me, and is trying to open a channel.

I need to get out of here.

I try to jump to the Void. The engine doesn't respond.

I don't remember the past however-long-it-took-to-get-here – or how on Earth I managed to excavate this relic from the vault and drag it into space – but I've believe I've just committed suicide. Of a permanent sort.

Standard interplanetary propulsion isn't working either. This ship is falling apart at the seams – I probably broke something with the sudden stop.

Shivering heat burns through my veins. If I survive this, I'm going to _destroy_ Kit.

Breathe. I swipe my hair back, pulling my face into a smile as I accept the Corpus hail – audio only, of course, and lifting my mask so it doesn't distort my voice, "Hello?"

"Identify yourself."

 _Uhh_ …

(Can't use Cai Tanya – a fifteen second search will tell them she's dead. What was the new Corpus clone's name? I can't–)

"Glen Dekei," I answer.

(… That'll work.)

There's about a minute of silence on the other end. They're trying to find information related to that name, but there's no way for them to know anything about a Grineer foot soldier that doesn't even really exist. Anyone with the same name can be accounted for, I'm sure, which is going to leave them with absolutely nothing.

It's not the worst position for me to be in.

Finally, the Corpus responds, "Identify your vessel, Glen Dekei."

"Oh, do you like it? This skin cost me a fortune."

"… Probably more than it was worth, unless you specifically asked for that blue cracking pattern."

I frown, "What are you talking about?"

"I assume you wanted an accurate recreation of an ancient Orokin vessel."

"… Of course."

"Well, the cracks may look nice, but they're not present in any historical images of Orokin ships. Whoever designed your ship made those up."

 _Those are roots, you twat. They're necessary to keep the ship functioning through the Void's technology-damping well._

Though they also shouldn't be visible. Their casings must have rotted away, which would explain why I can't jump to the Void – the ship's failsafes are preventing it. Generating a Void bubble with exposed roots could inundate the interior with Void energies, which would wreak havoc with my body. Needless to say, becoming a Tenno is _not_ on my bucket list.

(Besides, I shouldn't be rude. It's actually very nice of him to point out that I was stiffed on a deal, even if it's just because he's assuming I'm someone important. Or, someone with money to spare at least, which, to the Corpus, means exactly the same thing.)

"If you want to dock," the man says, annoyed, "You need to present ID."

"Ah, well, there's a bit of a problem there."

"What?"

"Well. First. I can't present ID. And second, I didn't mean to stop here in the first place. I just, sort of. Broke down."

"Really."

I fidget a little, running through my options, "Really."

I don't have anything to trade. I can't show my face. I can't leave the planet. I'm not a skilled pilot – if they send ships to take me in, I won't be able to get away. And if I die, then… that's that. No more waking up.

I don't know what to do.

One of the station's bay doors opens. I take an involuntary step back, as the man's voice comes over the channel, "I'm sending a carrier to tow you in."

I don't think. I just punch the controls, sending the ship careening toward Jupiter.

(They can't have this ship. This technology isn't theirs, it isn't anyone's anymore. Not our children, the Corpus and Tenno. Not our creations, the Grineer and Infested. Not even me. I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't have this.)

"Hey! What's going on?!"

"I…" my voice is trembling, as whirling orange clouds rise to meet me, "I was trying to go toward the carrier! I don't know what happened!"

" _Stop!_ "

I stop, but I'm already inside the atmosphere. I can't see anything but fierce ripping gas outside the windows, and the ship is groaning, but holding position.

Curses flow over the channel, and I almost chuckle. A carrier is too massive to come down this low – it won't be able to resist Jupiter's immense gravity. I've bought a little more time.

(Don't get hysterical. There _has_ to be a way out, I just can't see it yet. I won't die here. I'll never die, I'll never die, I'll never…)

At length, the man asks, "Are you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm… I'm here."

"Your ship's holding up?"

"For now."

"Good. The carrier can't reach you – it can't counteract Jupiter's gravity inside the atmosphere. But don't worry, we're going to figure out how to get you out. Just try to stay calm."

I listen to the creaking metal that surrounds me. I… _think_ it'll hold.

Hold. Shields. _Obvious_.

"Do you have any ideas?" I ask, opening up the control console's paneling. If I can get shields running over the veins, then they should be able to protect the inside of the ship, and I can override the Void generator safeties…

"In the event that you don't make it out," The man says, ignoring my question, "Who should we inform?"

… I'm sitting on the floor. My hands are full of wires. I don't know what to say.

"Dekei?"

"I…"

I don't have anyone. I threw them all away, so long ago. I've had a hundred names, but not one is mine.

"There's only one person to tell," I say, numb, "But you can't reach him."

"What's his name?"

 _I don't remember_ , "I… I call him Kit. He's– we worked closely together."

"Is he dead?"

I shake my head, though there's no way for the man on the other end to see it, "I pushed him away. We had a fight. I… I don't have anywhere to go back to now."

The realization hits like a ton of bricks. Kit has control of most of the systems at Telisto – enough that he can lock me out. If he gets creative, he may even be able to maintain the station without me – it'll certainly be easier to do so without the need to support organic lives.

There's nothing I'd like more right now than to strip every circuit in his Cephalon brain. But. I have no idea what I did in the time that I lost, and given my state of mind when I came back to my senses, I think it's safe to assume that the situation only escalated. I'm not confident in Kit's loyalty at the best of times, and he probably knows that I'm going to kill him if I get the chance – he might very well kill me first. I can't take that risk.

I can't get out of this dead end yet, but what does it matter if I can? What good is it to be able to run, if I have nowhere to go?

Silence from the channel. I curl up against the disemboweled console, scrubbing my suddenly stinging eyes, and listen to the groaning ship. There's something whistling through the walls, and rattling the floor. The roar of Jupiter's wind is muffled through my thin shields, like a distant army running over hollow metal.

Ever since the Tenno came back, I've felt that my time was ticking out, but I never imagined it would be like this.

"Dekei."

I startle. I didn't think anyone was still there, "What?"

He sounds hesitant, "How bad was the fight?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean. Some wounds are too deep to heal, and some aren't."

"… We knew how to hurt each other."

"You have to be pretty close to be able to do that."

I don't respond.

"I'm just curious. You say you can't go back, but you also want this guy to know if you die. Why?"

It's. Relevant to his life.

Silence. Kit will probably be able to protect the vault, I think. He seems to understand its importance, so I think he'll keep it safe even if he's never able to get inside. That's assuming he can manage to maintain the station alone, though. And that's a distressingly heavy assumption.

The man speaks again, "I, um… hurt someone that I cared about, once."

I frown, "What happened?"

"Well, we had a violent disagreement. It was a friendship that I valued, that I can never have back. But, looking back, it would have been simple to just reach out and apologize. I could have kept that friendship. All I had to do was set aside my pride."

"This isn't that simple."

"Hm."

It wouldn't just be my pride on the line if I went back. And I will _never_ accept death – I'll give up the vault before I give up my life.

"We're sending a drone to pull you out," the man says, "Think you can hold out for a few more minutes?"

"Yeah, I think so," I climb to my feet, looking out the window, "Isn't there a chance of losing remote control through the atmosphere, though?"

"Well, yes. But the thing is, our pilots that are good enough to navigate through that atmosphere? None of 'em are going to risk their lives on a rescue mission."

 _You'd probably have to stop anyone who was willing,_ I think, _I'll bet that kind of skill is even more valuable than the drone itself._

I can work with this.

I tap into my ship's stealth settings, carefully fiddling with them to see which ones work. A gentle probe shows me the drone, and the frequency controlling it. It's just left the Corpus station, and is now buzzing toward my position. It's always a relief to deal with machines with minimal human variables, and even more so to remove any human variable outside of myself.

All stealth controls are offline, but it's a simple power problem. I have plenty of excess power going into life support, so I merely divert it from there into the radiant suppression module.

"Dekei? Are you still there?"

"Yes. I don't know how much longer, though. Shields are going critical."

What do I do when I get out of here? There's no way Kit will trust me, but the thought of actually abandoning the vault, the very last vestige of my people – I didn't think I could feel this kind of pain anymore. This… heartache.

But if I did leave, if I cut Kit loose, accepting that I'll likely never know whether he lives or dies without me, then where would I go? The entire system is toxic to me. There's no place for an Orokin here, and I can't pass as anything else.

"We're almost there. You just need to hang on a little longer."

How long can I survive without Telisto? She's been my home, my only refuge for as long as I can remember. How long can I keep running without her?

How long can I keep pushing everything, everyone away?

The drone enters Jupiter's atmosphere.

I know what to do.

"Hey," I say.

"Yeah?"

"What's your name?"

"Gar Sen."

"Gar Sen," I repeat, and smile, just a little, "Thank you."

With one motion, I sever the channel tethering the drone to the Corpus station, and the one connecting them to me. The radiant suppression will keep my action entirely off their sensors – to them, I and the drone have simply vanished, swallowed by the gas giant.

I take control of the drone, guiding it down to latch onto my ship, giving an immediate boost to my shields. I channel that power over the veins, and then override the Void bubble safeties.

Space turns white.

I set a course for Telisto.

* * *

I drop out of the Void on the opposite side of Telisto as my station, and reroute all power from shields into propulsion. The drone is a marvelous source of energy – it's probably a new model. I'll have to poke around its generators later.

I punch the thrusters, speeding around the gas giant. Success hinges on not being detected – which is quite unfortunate, given how much work I've put into the sensors. If Kit isn't using them, then I'm fine. But if he is, then I can only hope I move fast enough to get inside before he can lock the door.

I need to suppress my radiant visibility, just slightly. If I'm too loud, it'll set off alarms inside the station. And if I'm too quiet, I'll set off _a lot more_ of them. It takes a delicate balance to keep my emissions at just the right level to not put the station on high alert. I'll still be on the sensors, of course, but that's unavoidable. I designed them to stand against Tenno and sentients – to my knowledge, no technology exists that can escape this station's eyes.

I speed into the hangar, pulling the ship to a halt so abrupt that it shoves me, sliding, across the floor. I barely keep my feet.

I can see the Kore Dim in the distance, its orange lights faint. We'll be in alignment soon.

I shake my head, and pull open the door, jumping out into zero gravity. My station surrounds me, looming, lightless as the gas giant it orbits. Only starlight, a few blue-white spots on the drone, and my own dim radiance illuminate this place.

I zip toward the station's southern pole, crashing through the doors nearest the vault.

"Hello," Kit's voice comes over the intercom. Still biting cold, "I wondered if you'd come back."

I start running.

And skid to a stop when a hatch slams in front of me, sealing the hallway.

"You know, I have this _compulsion_ to obey you. To protect you. That's what I was made for, after all – to serve my operator. But you know what? Maybe it's because I'm a _prototype_ , or because you cut me up and stuffed me into this ridiculous body, but I'm _done_ kowtowing to you. You're not going to kill me!"

"I wouldn't expect anything less," I say, opening the hatch's paneling and ripping out its locking circuit, gritting my teeth as the wires send a numbing shock through my arm. I let the limb fall to my side while its nerves struggle to get back in working order, and manually drag open the hatch with my still-functioning arm.

Kit hisses. Oh, yeah, he probably felt that.

The vault is just ahead. Once I'm there, I'll be outside the Cephalon's reach–

Something pops and crackles in the ceiling as I jump forward. Sounds like nerve circuits overloading – Kit probably just tried to electrify the area. He should know we don't have the power for that.

I slide in front of a nondescript door, and breathe on it.

It slides open.

Kit screams, terrified, " _No!_ "

The door closes behind me, and I stand in a small, empty, cubicle room.

Then the walls dissolve.

I remember.

"I was a researcher," I say, feeling as though I'm waking from the longest dream. I call golden script into existence with my fingertips, "I specialized in resource manipulation..."

"What?" Kit sputters, "What are you talking about?"

Words and memories. Dreams brought to life. I continue, "After the Ten-O incident, I was reassigned. As one of the few surviving parents of the Ten-O children, it was thought that I would be especially helpful to rehabilitation efforts.

"I tried. Over and over, I tried. But it seemed like the more time I spent with my surviving children, the further apart we grew. When my baby girl tried to split my head open, it finally became clear that although my youngest had lived, they were just as lost to me as their older siblings.

"I moved away, and buried myself in other work. When the Council decided to weaponize the kids, their supervisor begged me to help her change their minds. But I couldn't. I pushed everything away, focusing only the next project. I slept at work so I wouldn't have to wake up in an empty home. If someone tried to befriend me, I would ask for reassignment. When the kids' supervisor was executed, I didn't even notice until a month later.

"That was when I started losing time. My occasional lapses went unnoticed, though, since they didn't hinder my work.

"Eventually I was stationed at a research facility in Neptune's upper atmosphere. We developed weapons. I don't remember much of what we made, but I recall working on warframe technology for a while. The time passed in a blur, until a moment came when I felt ready to try to reconnect with the world.

"Then… the betrayal. My team had gone to the ceremony, while I stayed behind and watched the broadcast. It was clear what would follow.

"My research station wasn't designed for space travel. I changed that. The place was packed with old technology and new, with a thousand prototypes stuffed into the cracks. I cannibalized most of it to turn it into what it is now – some things I broke down for parts, others I implemented directly into the structure. Like you, Kit."

My fingers trace lines of light through the air, speaking a dead language to the systems around me. "I didn't expect to stop at Telisto. It may be an empty, dark planet in the middle of nowhere, but I thought someone would still come looking. I guess no one thought anyone would be stupid enough to abandon civilization completely, to scrounge out a life utterly alone.

"That's the thing, though." My hand stops moving, "I'm done being alone."

The glowing lines of code coalesce into two words before me.

 _User added._

Kit is waiting for me when I emerge from the vault. He's clearly tense. I would be too, if I weren't so exhausted. It feels as though the accumulated weight of centuries is all coming down on me at once.

"You let me in," Kit says. He sounds stunned.

"I know."

"In all these years… you never let anyone in."

"I know."

"So… you're not going to kill me?"

"I was going to. At first. But, then… I realized… you're important. Not just as someone to talk to, but you do half the work of keeping this place alive. I'm sorry I don't give you credit for that. And if something happened to me, then it would all fall on you, and… and you would do it. You wouldn't disconnect from the station. You wouldn't run away. Because you know what's important, far better than I do."

"I…" Kit hesitates, "I wouldn't be so sure about that. But, I, um… I'm sorry, about what I said. It was… _horrible_ , and _wrong_ , and… I didn't really mean what I said about this body. I actually kind of like being a cat."

"I'm sorry, too," I reply, "You were right, about a lot of things, and… I'm sorry that you were right. And about what I said."

Kit fidgets. I reach for him, and after a moment of hesitation, he hops into my arms.

For a moment, it's silent, save for his purring.

Then–

"Wow," Kit breathes, "That's a lot of data."

I smile, just a little, putting my back against the wall as I sink to the floor, "It should be. It was built up over years. It started with, uh, one of my team members – he had this hobby of collecting guns. He'd brag about it all the time. 'Hey, check out this antique,' 'look at this one, it's a _special version_ '. He was insufferable. But the problem was, his collection _was_ impressive, and he'd often use the little design quirks in special models to improve our current project. Since it was our job to develop weapons, we couldn't really complain.

"Then, one day, another team member brought in an archwing prototype and put it on display in the main hall. It was much cooler than anything the guy had, and it finally shut him up. But, then yet another team member disappeared for a few days. We started to get worried, wondering if she'd gotten caught in a skirmish with sentients.

"Then, during lunch, she just showed up again out of the blue, carrying a whole chest of rare, antique mods. It turned into a competition between all of us to see who could amass the most impressive collection of technology. And each new thing we developed would become part of our team pool, which we could rub in the faces of other research teams."

My smile widens, eyes closing. I'd forgotten that there were some dreams that weren't nightmares, "That guy, though. He could make it sound like our project was the most impressive by far, even if the other team's was clearly superior. And the one with the mods – she had crazy connections all over the system. Probably even had ties with the mob. You were one of hers, Kit – a prototype of the first Cephalon. Everyone… they were all a little insane, really. I wish I'd gotten to know them better.

"Anyway, specs were part of the competition. They were the strongest part of my collection – with all the fields I jumped through, I had more and better blueprints than anyone else. A lot of them were my own designs, too, which sort of counted extra. I wasn't often 'king of the hill', so to speak, but I was never far from the top."

I shake my head, "This vault… it's all the legacy of my people that I know of. Anything we take out has a chance of being lost forever. So…"

"I understand," Kit says, "And I think I see your section. It's, um. Extensive."

"Mmhmm. You know, if you want to know your real name, look through the… second-largest manifest, I think."

Kit is silent.

I glance at him, "Is something wrong?"

"My name isn't the only one in here."

"Oh." I close my eyes, leaning back against the wall, "Right. Leave that alone, please. I, uh. I don't want to know."

"Very well."

"I brought a drone back with me. It should have everything we need to stay running for another week or so."

"You should get started on that immediately. The Kore Dim needs to start slowing down soon, and getting it docked may take the rest of the day."

I hum in agreement, but I don't move. Neither does Kit.


	5. Awake

White reverts to starlit black. Neptune's deep blue brightens the darkness, with Corpus stations dotting its sky. I crouch on a landing pad in the ghost ship Kore Dim, waiting to be ejected out into space.

"We haven't been detected yet," the cat by my feet says, "You ready, Loi?"

My curls bounce as I nod, "Yep!"

(With an influx of parts from a shiny new Corpus drone, the station is back on its feet. The endless list of things to fix is a little shorter today, and it's time to start building a new life.)

"Then go get 'em, kid."

I laugh ( _I'm older than you are!_ ), springing into the air as the gravity drops to zero. Vacuums empty the bay of atmosphere, and then the giant doors above me slide open. Small bands concealed beneath my ragged clothes control my flight, and pump energy through my personal life support module. Curled wire nestles inside my pockets, interspersed with a few platinum nuggets.

(This is much easier, with a friend. With access to the vault data, Kit was able to help me with repairs that he never could before. And it's incredibly calming to have him here now, handling the Kore Dim while I focus on learning this new face. For the first time in a long, _long_ time, I feel… good.)

As I enter open space, piercing light spins over the Kore Dim's outstretched guns, engulfing the ship for a split second before it vanishes.

(It's had a few more modifications to make it Void-compliant. It's completely worthless as a disguise now, but it can still serve as transportation.)

I angle toward a particular Corpus station, and fly. Everything seems to hold still for a moment, and then the station zooms toward me. I latch onto a wall, and then slip my feet over it, turning the wall into a floor.

There are various shafts crisscrossing through this station's hull, more than large enough for me to fit into. I use those to make my way into the station's interior, and a little fancy cutting-and-splicing work gets me into the pressurized zone.

This station is essentially a Corpus city. It's actually easier to pass beneath notice once I'm outside the ventilation system, into the busy streets.

Here, hundreds of people fill colossal corridors, traversing their tenuous lives. Cool light fills this mechanical world, glowing over patterns of blue and silver. Voices permeate the air, their broken symphony underscored by the gentle hum of the station's generators. People stand or travel in clusters, their conversations lost to the pervasive noise. Vendors are scattered along the edges, selling their wares. A few bold individuals wear syndicate colors.

I slip through the crowd, trading a platinum nugget for a few credits, then making my way to the flight station desk. A giant hologram shines above, listing the various statuses of local flights. A small crowd of people stands near the desk, listening to a woman – uniform marking her as a pilot – speaking animatedly.

While standing in line, I can hear her too.

"– Turns out, she _cut a hole_ in one of the power conduits, and just plugged some giant cable right in! It _destroyed_ our shields, but that ship ran faster than anything you've ever seen! We left those Grineer in our dust!"

I reach the front of the line, and the woman behind the desk asks, "Which flight?"

" _Gaia's Breath_ ," I answer, placing credits on the desk. The woman takes them, and hands me a ticket in return. _Gaia's Breath_ is a large transport, perfect for a young girl searching for her way in the world. And if it's owned by New Loka, all the better – I haven't had much firsthand experience with syndicates, and I'd really like to learn more about them. This seems like a perfect opportunity to do just that.

I slide into the storyteller's audience as she continues, her voice dropping, "When we docked, though, and finally got the engine room's doors open… Wen Til and the freelancer were both inside. She was dead. She sacrificed her life for us – truly, she was human."

The crowd turns somber, and I glance at my ticket. This storyteller is my pilot, a woman by the name of Ellia. She seems like a decent sort, though I'm little skeptical of her assumption regarding this 'freelancer's' motivations.

(But I'm Loi, and I wouldn't know anything about that.)


End file.
